


Cut You Open (Make You Beg)

by aliitvodeson



Series: Whump fics - marvel edition [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Pietro Maximoff, Medical Experimentation, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Torture, Violence, Wanda Maximoff (mentioned) - Freeform, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, no beta reader we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliitvodeson/pseuds/aliitvodeson
Summary: Pietro signed up to helped his country, to be a hero. Instead, they made him into a miracle, and then punished him for fun. They cut him open, and laughed when he begged for mercy
Series: Whump fics - marvel edition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948816
Kudos: 6





	Cut You Open (Make You Beg)

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020  
> Day 2: psychological whump | hearing things | leg/foot injuries
> 
> Warnings - medical experiments, torture, knife violence, blood, graphic description of torture, Hydra Trash Party

He’s not sure when he knew he’d fucked up.  
When they’d stood in the cafeteria, listening to the lead scientist go on and on about the good that this would bring their people, about all of the ways that these experiments would be able to help Sokovia... It had been easy then. It was the last time anything about Pietro’s existence had been easy, and he had been starving on the streets, getting beaten up by cops every other night before this.  
They’d strapped the volunteers to beds, and pushed the needles into their arms, and the chemicals had burned like fire. But Pietro had just turned his head to the side, had found Wanda looking back at him, and the two of them had simply smiled at each other while the screams rose higher and higher around them.  
He’d been dizzy and weak when they wheeled him into the glass walled cell, but he’d still asked after Wanda. And they laugh at him, and maybe that’s when he’d known that what he’d signed up for hadn’t been what he had gotten in the end. Except he was too weak to fight back, too weak to even stand up on his own, and they leave him curled up in a ball beside the glass.  
Sometimes he thinks he can hear Wanda singing. Sometimes he’ll tap on the glass to the imaginary beat, and she’ll stop.  
Pietro cries whenever the singing stops. Even if it’s all in his own head, even if it’s all made up, he wants to hear her. He wants to hear her voice again, her smooth words and her gentle song. He hasn’t seen her in- How long has he been in this cell? How long has he been behind these glass walls? Pietro doesn’t know.  
They drag him out by his arms and his feet scrap against the stone floor, and he realizes that they haven’t given him shoes as they strap him into another medical bed. More needles, and the lines into his arms are blue, bright blue, so blue indeed. His feet burn. He is just about able to crane his neck around, to look down at his feet, and see that they’re all bloody. His toes look blue, but it’s a darker, natural blue than what’s consuming his veins.  
Pietro closes his eyes, and the whole world dances in blue.  
He doesn’t see Wanda, even when he hears her singing in his ears, and they drag him out of the cell, take him to a gym and order him to run, run, faster, faster, faster. They laugh as he trips on the treadmill, his bare feet unable to properly drip at the rough plastic service. Wanda’s singing a quiet hymn, and Pietro bites his lip to keep himself from screaming.  
They’re not who he thought they were and this wasn’t what he signed up for, but if they have Wanda, and those guns... He runs for them, because he has no choice.  
He sits on the floor of his cell and stares at the blood dripping from his feet, and he wonders if it will be enough to bleed out completely. He falls asleep with his back against the cold stone wall, and when he wakes, the whole bottom of his foot is one solid scab.  
He throws himself at the glass, and the world spins around him, too fast, too fast. It’s like the blue blur is all around him, surrounding him, holding him, and when the guards open his cell door they move in slow motion, raising their guns towards him in an overly exaggerated manner. Pietro snarls, and reaches for the nearest one, and when his hands make contact with the man’s chest, he goes flying back out into the hallway.  
Pietro doesn’t hear anything from Wanda as the blue consumes all that he sees.  
Something hits the back of his head, and he stumbles, and the world snaps back to reality. It’s grey and dark, and the guard swings the heavy club again, this time into the back of Pietro’s knees. Pietro’s scream is a tangled harsh noise as he falls to the stone floor.  
A black boot comes down on his elbow. Another similar weight falls onto his lower fack. They’re standing on him, someone is standing on him! “That hurts, hey, you can’t-”  
“Oh does it hurt you little bitch? That’s okay, I’ll give you something to really hurt.”  
Pietro knows the sound of a knife being pulled from his sheath. He struggles even harder against the boots holding him to the floor.  
Someone grabs his ankle. They jerk his leg back and up, and his kneecap makes a strange popping sound.  
The knife cuts into his ankle, plunging deep into his flesh, and as he struggles fruitlessly to pull away, the gathered group of guards laugh. “They already know your healing’s good, stupid punk. This is just another test.”  
“Fuck, you cut his achilles?”  
“Yeah.” Another jerk of the knife, and Pietro screams. He doesn’t even try to hold back the tears, because he knows that it would be entirely pointless to even try. It hurts, God above it hurts, and he can’t get away. The laughter echoes, coming from all around him. There’s no blue lights, no imagination of Wanda singing, just red, red, red of pain and hurting and crying.  
“Do the other one.”  
Pietro thrashes, and manages to crawl for a few feet along the ground before the one guy gets on top of him again. The laughter is even more pointed now, even more cruel, and he whimpers when he feels the hand around his ankle.  
“Please, please, don’t-”  
The guard pauses, with the point of the blade delicately pressed against Pietro’s skin, and his hand holding Pietro’ leg firm. The weight of the man standing on top of his back makes it nearly impossible to breath, makes every gasp for air a struggle to lift his lungs high enough, force his chest open wide enough.  
“He’s like a fish out of water.”  
“Come on fishy. Beg me. I wanna hear you beg.”  
His face is wet all over, and he can see patches of dried, old blood on the stone just in front of his eyes, darker and fordodening. The pain is a centered point of fire on his left calf, a fire that consumes that small point of injury, yet so hot it threatens to overwhelm his senses. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  
The knife plunges into his ankle.  
Pietro screams, but no sound comes out of his throat. There’s so little air inside of his lungs that he can’t even make the required noise. The man twists the knife inside of him, dragging it through the muscles and then twisting it around in circles.  
Finally, it ends, and Pietro lay on the floor, chest heaving, sobbing, broken. The blood is a pool underneath his legs. Someone spits on his forehead.  
“Better learn to behave, fish boy. Or we’ll gut you properly.”


End file.
